


The Bloody Coffee Stand

by hankypotram (orphan_account)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Arguing, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Snarky!Draco, Snarky!Hermione, Temper Tantrums, Wandless Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-20 23:37:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10673121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/hankypotram
Summary: Draco has had a bad day at work, but does Hermione make it better, or worse?





	The Bloody Coffee Stand

"So," he tilted his head slightly, placing one hand upon the other decisively as if he were in a terribly important meeting – which, he scoffed, was hardly the case – and appraising his timid colleague with thinly-veiled dubiety. "What you, a lowly office secretary are trying to campaign for is... a beverage stand?"

  
"Yes, sir," the secretary nodded eagerly, leaning forward in his excitement for such an inconsequential addition to the company which all others seemed to think was absolutely fine as it was, thank you very much. Now, Draco would call himself liberal – perhaps not to such a standard as those intrusive, overly exuberant former Gryffindors, but still tolerant – but he was not going to indulge such wild, trivial dreams of a... a plebeian. It was simply not in the nature of somebody of such high intellectual capability such as himself.

  
"You see," the assistant added, unaware he was digging himself deeper and deeper into a hole that smelled suspiciously of faecal coffee beans. "It would really brighten our day if we could come into work in th-"

  
Draco quietly lifted a pale hand, and it was as if a wandless, silent _Silencio_ had been placed upon the common secretary as he promptly began choking on his words, his rotund face rapidly brightening to a strong, unbecoming shade of puce. He assessed the plebeian's round, ardent expression – and he described it as round due to the spherical properties it possessed, belonging to such a bulbous creature with such bulbous mannerisms – and considered humouring the man. He inwardly chuckled at the sentence.

  
No.

  
"Now, Mr..." he trailed off at the realisation that he had forgotten the name of the secretary. How very silly of him. Unfortunately, it would do no good to laugh at his own hilarious sarcastic remarks in the middle of an oh-so-imperative meeting – oh look, there was another uproarious comment, he was on a roll here – so he refrained from smirking and instead focused on projecting _bad vibes_ onto the spheroid, quivering peasant currently standing before him, pitifully attempting to convince him that a bloody coffee stand was the divine solution to the company's problems. Lord, that idiosyncratic schlemiel his wife seemed to somehow withstand the company of was beginning to rub off on him, what with her oddball prophetic spewing about _bad vibes_ seeming to have wormed its way into his subconscious. Perhaps he should ban her from the house.

  
"Brown," the assistant replied, his trembling having subsided somewhat. Draco was a little irritated that this commoner had the gall to interrupt, no matter the dire circumstances, but he generously let the issue slide, since, he admitted, he had been inviting the interruption.

  
"Mr Brown," Draco repeated, trying very hard to sound interested – he almost laughed at that one, Merlin, he should not be holed up in an office tending to dunces when he could be in the comedic industry – at the fact a very forgettable name had been spoken, which would, in fact, most likely be forgotten once more within the week. He blinked firmly, which, if one was not Draco Malfoy, would be an impossible feat, and began what he affectionately called 'The Professional Verbal Beating'. Or the fun part, it really depended on the day.

  
"Mr Brown," Lord, he was getting bored with this name and all matters to do with it - "I'm afraid I am going to have to decline your offer."

  
Draco hadn't even begun his tirade and the secretary's face had just plummeted off of a cliff. His cheeks sagged like miserable, rosy potato sacks, and his eyes gazed up at Draco forlornly, as if he was a rain-soaked puppy who had been denied warmth and basic animal rights. Today, it was definitely the fun part – even funnier than Draco's side-splitting remarks, and that was certainly saying something.

  
"Bu- but why sir-"

  
"It seems an inconsequential matter compared to some other cases with far more gravitas and importance in this company that I'm sure you are eager to get back to, Mr Brown. And it may do me well to inform you there is a coffee shop, albeit Muggle, a mere three minute walk away, Mr Brown." Now Draco had begun recite the dull name with more spite than probably necessary in a professional situation, but he couldn't quite bring himself to care. The bloody plebeian thought he could have his cake and eat it too; he was lucky Draco had even hired him, let alone questioned his own usually stoic mind if he should comply with the witless request.

  
"If your needs are so desperate, and you are despondent without your morning sustenance, I'm sure you are able to brave a trip to the coffee shop to satiate your endless thirst before you arrive at work-"

  
"S-Sir-"

  
"I see no reason to humour you longer, Mr Brown," he intoned decisively, folding his arms in a manner that dared that Mr Brown to interrupt once more. "Please return to your work, and see to it that you nor your colleagues disturb me for the same reason again."

  
"Mr Malfo-"

  
"Return to your work." He was devoid of any visible emotion. Mr Brown nodded violently and rushed out of the open door, shuddering – which Draco noted had an amusing effect on his puce cheeks, as they seemed to move of their own accord – and clutching his briefcase tightly. Both were glad of the open door, although perhaps for different reasons; Draco enjoyed his 'Professional Verbal Beating' to be viewed by all of his staff for two reasons, one being it was often sufficient warning that he was not to be asked stupid questions, and the other being it was, quite frankly, hysterical.

  
Grasping the bridge of his nose and sighing like a lovesick maiden – which he most certainly wasn't, might he add, it just seemed a fitting simile, alright – he slumped into his chair, non-verbally casting a _Claudere Ostium_. He was quite proud of that charm actually, seeing as it was the first spell he had made himself; with the help of his wife, of course, who specialised in that sort of thing. Draco cursed himself for repeatedly getting off track, when he should just be cracking on with some of the admittedly intimidating files sitting on his bureau. It was because of that blasted assistant and that blasted coffee stand. Ruined what was going to be a decent day, he did.

  
In a moment, the toppling pile of documents were crashing onto the floor, hurtling and clattering while Draco stood rigidly by the remains of his organised heap in blind frustration. He pulled at his blond hair, letting out a irritated growl at his earlier disturbance, and, positively ignoring the blanket of files on the floor, strode out of his office. His staff gazed unabashedly at his stomping form, and it was only at the realisation of this rapt interest at his actions did he send a surreptitious _Claudere Ostium_ , followed by a strong locking spell he had learnt from his godfather. He certainly didn't want them sticking their abnormally large noses into his business.

  
After striding angrily through the large office building, using a remarkably slow lift that he was seconds away from incinerating in a rage due to its ineptness, and startling the receptionist by fiercely biting out that she shouldn't expect him back today, his mood had not improved. Forcefully pushing the glass doors of his office, he came to the rather alarming conclusion he didn't know where to go next.

  
It almost stopped him in his tracks, but he was determined to get away from that oppressive building and his harassing staff. And when Draco Malfoy was determined, nobody could stop him.

  
*

  
He ended up in a quaint little sandwich shop, aggressively gnawing at a pancetta sandwich – it was the only thing on offer that didn't make his nose scrunch up in distaste, and he questioned why he had gone there in the first place – while the sandwich maker was sending him looks that suspected he didn't quite have a grip on sanity. He had just sent a rather eloquent text to his wife on the tellingphone, stating that:

  
**pls come 12 elborough lane quick**

  
He thought it was half decent, seeing as he almost punched the device in his subsiding rage, although he knew she would gladly dispute that. His sandwich was almost finished, so he knew she would have to make an appearance soon, seeing as he may have sent her into slight panic what with actually utilising the word 'please' in an odd, text-speaking way and adding 'quick' at the end. The bell at the door tinkled as a panting woman with rather large hair entered, casting frantic glances around the small shop and not noticing the worried gaze of the sandwich maker who was now obviously directing his sanity-questioning looks at her.

  
Ah. That would be her.

  
"Draco! Wh-what's wrong?" she immediately ran over to his table, about to hug him in worry before surveying him with a narrow-eyed look. She crossed her arms and gave him the most swottish look she could muster – or at least, from what he could tell – pursing her lips in annoyance. "There is nothing wrong, is there."

  
Draco had the decency to look a bit embarrassed, previous frustration momentarily pushed aside. "Well, uh, technically-"

  
"You had me so worried, you moron! Sending me that vague text about coming quick – and don't you dare make a joke about that, mister-"

  
His mouth snapped shut guiltily.

  
"-and now I see you, what, casually eating a sandwich during both our working hours? Are you crazy?" she huffed, looking a bit deranged herself. The sandwich maker mumbled something to himself which sounded a lot like 'crazy indeed' before proceeding to make an egg and mayonnaise sandwich for an elderly lady – but that was besides the point. Hermione was angry, he was angry, and they obviously had to take this elsewhere. He purposefully slid the wicker chair - which was highly uncomfortable, what with the little tendrils of straw scratching his expensive jacket - and attempted to ignore the large wince that spread across his wife's face as the legs screeched against the terracotta tiles of the floor. He was just about to grab her outstretched arm and whisk her away, when-

  
"No, don't you dare walk off now Malf-"

  
"That doesn't really apply, seeing how we're both-"

  
"Ridding me of my useful working hours for this nons-"

  
"You're months ahead, you'll be fin-"

  
"It's like you're bloody trying to get under my skin-"

  
"Now there are a few places on you I would like to get und-"

  
"First making me rush here, now making crass jo-"

  
"Enough!" the sandwich maker yelled, startling the both of them and the few other customers littering the shop. His eyebrows were furrowed in anger, and he was brandishing a bread knife dangerously, which alarmed a few people to say the least. "Get out of my shop, the both of you!"

  
With a rueful look, they traipsed out of the shop, away from the god-awful stench of egg mayonnaise and murderous sandwich makers. Hermione kept sending him dirty glances, and not the kind of dirty he liked; instead they were angry, accusatory glares that they used to throw back at Hogwarts. After a few moments of silence between the pair as they walked – in fact, he wasn't quite sure where they were walking, he seemed to be following Hermione's lead – Hermione cleared her throat to grab his attention. Great, another lecture. But instead, she resolutely grabbed his hand, which surprised him for a second, although not as much as the sudden strong pull on his navel did.

  
They landed in the living room of their house – which was usually full of colour and heat, but sadly devoid of those two things due to the lack of a fire and the removal of the emerald blanket he had bought in an attempt to add some Slytherin to the relatively neutral room. Hermione stood a few paces away from him, staring expectantly.

  
"What do you want me to say?" Draco said petulantly, even though they both knew he knew exactly what she was expecting of him. And here came the lecture.

  
"I don't know, maybe 'I'm sorry'? You know full well what you should be saying, Draco Malfoy, so you best say it in the next twenty seconds or you will face some consequences you may not like," Hermione replied, huffing ever-so-slightly in that swottish, holier than thou tone she always used when she knew she was right.

  
"And what would those be?" he answered cheekily, refusing to give in just yet if it meant winding her up just a little further. It was admittedly adorable when she got flustered, but he knew going too far may have dire consequences on certain aspects of his life; namely, the sexual part.

  
"Ten seconds, Draco," she insisted, raising an eyebrow to challenge him. Of course, him being Draco Malfoy, he was going to soak it up and answer on the last second, so he kept a smirk fixed on his face and waited impatiently until the proverbial clock ticked one.

  
"Time's up. I suppose you won't be getti-"

  
"Look, I'm sorry, ok?" he gave in, sighing and sounding a little bit too grovelling for his ears. But it was in the name of love – no, he refused to get sappy about not being punished for some ridiculous crime she had accused him of. Also, she looked far too smug for his liking, so he rapidly decided it was time to wipe the little boasting smirk off of her little boasting face. He took three definitive steps forward, looked his self-satisfied, glowing wife straight in the eye and-

  
"Ah, ah, ah."

  
He stopped. Well, the halting of proceedings wasn't of his own accord, in fact it was a nonverbal _Immobulus_ from his oh-so-devious wife, who was now staring amusedly at his frustrated expression. But, nonetheless, he was stopped.

  
"You apologised after the time was up, Draco. Therefore, it is only right that you receive the punishment."

  
He tried to reason with her - 'tried' being a very key term in this sentence, seeing as he was stuck in place holding a proverbial Hermione's face and just about to kiss that smug grin off of her pretty little mouth. She now stood a good few feet away, arms once again crossed in that very condescending manner that only she could manage, and laughing at him. Laughing at him. What had he ever done to deserve this?

  
As if the gods had heard his silent plea, he was released from the charm, and he began purposefully storming towards the now slightly surprised Hermione. Ah, but the trademark Malfoy smirk slipped right back on after he was once again immobilised. He figuratively scowled; she was having far too much fun with this.

  
"Now, now, Draco," she mocked, coming closer and daring to smile three inches from his face. "I won't allow for a response unless you can act like a civilised human being, not a barbarian."

  
She was milking it for all it was worth, and part of Draco was sullenly proud that she had adopted such a Slytherin trait – however, most of Draco was very indignant and highly annoyed she was being so superior about it. That was reserved for him, thank you very much.

  
"I will remove the spell from the mouth only, and I will listen to your argument, because I am a fair person," she smoothly moved away from Draco's frozen face, and frowned for a split second as she performed the counter balancing of a segment of the charm before her mouth flitted back to that infuriating smile.

  
"You- you slimy bastard!" Draco sputtered, relieved of the _Immobulus_ charm from at least one area of his body. She merely grinned wider, which made him furrow his eyebrows in rage.

  
"Now make your argument, if you have one," she watched him expectantly. He pursed his lips very subtly, thinking his response through very carefully, attempting not to come up with a solution that would further enrage the pompous girl currently controlling his body. It was at this harrowing, desperate point, that Draco Malfoy finally came upon an epiphany. He really did have to apologise to his wife.

  
"I'm sorry," his features drooped in defeat. She had won, and he would give it to her for once. He supposed texting her in the middle of the working day while he was having a temper tantrum was not the brightest idea, especially the temper tantrum component in that odd concoction of bad things that had happened that day. And none of it would have happened if it weren't for that bloody coffee stand.

  
Hermione narrowed her eyes, evaluating Draco's response. Trust the girl not to trust him, he was her husband for Merlin's sake. She should, in his humble opinion, know by now when he was lying to her, since she had successfully caught him in every lie he had ever fabricated during their relationship.

  
"Alright, I will grudgingly accept your apology. I'll release you, Draco, however, it is on the condition that you will follow through with your punishment," Hermione warned, pointing a finger at his disgruntled, slightly reddened face. What was with her and her righteous, almighty punishments?

  
"Alright," he agreed adamantly, gleeful to be out of the awful _Freezing_ charm that had stopped him from doing so many an activity – or person, especially the delightfully Slytherin one standing before him, looking smug and self-satisfied and oh-so-his. Unfortunately, he was forced to endure a certain activity being withheld from a him from a certain witch for a frustratingly uncertain amount of time. He reckoned a week, since nobody could undergo longer than that without succumbing to his suave charm and general handsomeness, never mind his wife, who he knew to be a fan of his appearance and all things that came with it.

  
With what sounded like a regretful yet glad sigh, she wordlessly performed _Finite_ _Incantatem_ on Draco's frozen form, and he shook his limbs out a little. She was still wearing the remnants of the inviting smirk, and, due to his newfound freedom and the thoughts of what he could achieve that night, he conjured up a suggestive smirk of his own. Hers only widened, before Draco shot her an unabashedly searing, predatory gaze from across the room that made her eyes widen innocuously and her cheeks flush.

  
He certainly forgot about the negligible incidents that had come to pass that day: the plebeian assistant, the _Immobulus_ charm, the punishment, the river of files, the murderous sandwich maker and the bloody coffee stand. For such an eventful day, his mind was cleared of such mishaps and failings that occurred, and was entirely focused on one thing, and one thing only.

  
Needless to say, he did not follow through with the punishment that night.  



End file.
